Quantum Entanglement
by harinezumiko
Summary: Short love confession scenarios. 1: It takes a conscious effort to let go of someone, but it can be natural to fall into the arms of another. 2: You can't graduate the School of Love if you don't have the basics down. 3: Parted from me and never parted, never and always touching and touched. 4: Everybody needs practice.
1. Last and first, lost and found

Manjoume lurked gloomily by the lake. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, just to wait until Asuka was done and ask her to accompany him on a walk, where he'd make one final play for her affections. But here he was, losing to Judai yet again. Whether Judai was truly oblivious to Asuka's intent, or was just trying to spare her feelings, mattered not. What mattered was that Manjoume had been well and truly passed over.

He jumped as he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Manjoume-kun! I didn't mean to startle you," came Fubuki's voice. Turning round, Manjoume saw he was still dressed in full princely regalia. "You were really lost in thought, huh?"

"It's nothing," Manjoume lied. "I just wanted to get away from the party."

"Really?" Fubuki folded his arms disappointedly. "I was rather hoping to get to ask you to dance."

"Me?" Manjoume took an involuntary step back, and then, not wishing to appear rude to his master, turned it into an awkward foot shuffle.

"Why not?" Fubuki knelt and held a hand out to Manjoume, just as he had to Asuka on the steps at the ball. His warm smile enticed under the cool moon night.

Manjoume placed his hand in Fubuki's, tentatively, and his heart fluttered as Fubuki's fingers closed softly around his own. Fubuki stood, fluid and graceful, his other hand on Manjoume's hip to pull them closer together. Manjoume rested his free hand on Fubuki's shoulder, his forearm flush against Fubuki's jacket. They swayed to the rhythm of the breeze in the rushes, the sound of their fast-beating hearts, the feel of the bass from the party music transmitted through the earth to their feet.

"Thunder?" whispered Fubuki, lips almost brushing against Manjoume's reddening ear, sending delicious tingles through his scalp and down his spine.

"Master?" Manjoume pulled back just a little, enough to make eye contact, and saw Fubuki's expression suddenly serious.

"I know why you came out here," said Fubuki, oddly breathless. "It's a beautiful night for a confession. The truth is… I have one of my own."

"Please don't tell me you've awakened some ancient evil that can only be vanquished by the power of love, or something."

Fubuki gave a quick smile, and pressed his forehead to Manjoume's. "If I did, would you go out with me?"


	2. Eternity in your eyes

"Manjoume-kun! Thanks for coming!" Fubuki held the door to his dorm room open wide, smiling to match.

"What's this about a science experiment?" Manjoume took off his shoes and left them neatly lined up next to Fubuki's.

"Ah! Well, you see, there's studies showing that holding eye contact with someone for three minutes can make you fall in love." Fubuki padded over to sit on the edge of the expansive bed. "So, I thought we could try it."

"What?" Manjoume's mouth dropped open and he stopped dead half way across the room. "You and… me?"

"Sure, why not?" Fubuki shrugged. "I couldn't very well try it with a girl, they already like me anyway."

"Then why not... Judai?" Manjoume grasped for a lifeline. "He's pretty much immune to romance."

"Exactly," said Fubuki, nodding sagely. "So it wouldn't be a fair test. You, on the other hand, I know you have a passionate heart…"

The way Fubuki was looking at Manjoume now, his eyes upturned under the shade of his bangs and a half-smile on his lips, Manjoume doubted he could make sixty seconds without a dash for the window. What floor was Fubuki's room on again?

"You are my student, after all," said Fubuki, leaning back on his elbows. "It's about time we had another lesson."

"What if it doesn't work?" said Manjoume, unthinkingly moving closer.

"Then we'll know," said Fubuki, vaguely.

Manjoume found himself perched on the bed next to his master, hands resting primly on his closed knees. "What are we supposed to do, just look at each other? That's it?"

"You'll do it?" Fubuki sat up fast. He sounded happy, and that was enough to cement Manjoume's resolve.

"Okay," said Manjoume. Warm relief flooded his cheeks.

Fubuki reached for his PDA to set a timer. "Now, if you could just turn to face me…"

"We're doing this now?" Manjoume asked, shifting his legs as instructed.

"Mmm-hmm," Fubuki affirmed. "It's not like there's anything we need to prepare."

"Should we have music? Or are we supposed to talk?"

"No, we just gaze into each other's eyes. That's it." Fubuki tilted his head to one side. "Are you stalling, Manjoume-kun?"

"No, I'm ready," lied Manjoume. "Start that timer already."

"Then, here we go." Fubuki pushed the button and looked back up, straight into Manjoume's eyes.

It was just another form of duel, Manjoume told himself, just a staring contest. Only a few seconds had passed and he was already itching to look down, to confirm the time, but to look away would be to admit defeat.

It was rare that they got chance to relax and just be. This should be a calming experience. Manjoume's heartbeat disagreed. He worried about whether he was blinking too much, or not enough; or whether it was wrong to shift his focus from eye, to eye, to proud bridge of nose, back to beautiful eye.

He tried to concentrate on anything that wasn't those deep brown eyes directly in front of him, without averting his gaze. The sound of the drapes fluttering in the ocean breeze entering sofly through the open window. The feel of Obelisk Blue's fine cotton sheets and luxuriously sprung mattress. The fresh scent of – what was that, jasmine? Honeysuckle? drifting languorously across from Fubuki's person.

It was impossible.

Manjoume knew what Fubuki looked like, of course. He'd even spent a little time in sneaky study, trying to memorise the length of Fubuki's eyelashes or the angle of his jawline. His gaze would flick away in pretence if Fubuki looked back at him. It was another thing entirely to observe and be observed.

He wanted to ask what Fubuki saw as he gazed at Manjoume, whether his own hooded grey eyes were notable in any way next to Fubuki's own rock star good looks. Whether Fubuki could see right through into Manjoume's secret thoughts. Whether he knew what sweet torture he was inflicting on his poor follower.

Was it Manjoume's imagination, or were their heads drifting closer together? He bit his lip subconsciously, worrying it with his teeth. Fubuki was clearly smiling, Manjoume could tell from the flick at the outer corners of his eyes. He didn't know whether he wanted to break away or lean in further. The timer, out of sight, ticked silently on.

After a while, it began to feel less unnatural to Manjoume, and he found himself willing the seconds to pass slower and slower, to let them both melt out of the timestream. To be alone, together, for however long it took to-

The timer buzzed violently, jolting Manjoume out of his reverie. Fubuki jumped too and rushed to silence the irritation. Manjoume pulled back, looked away, blinked.

Fubuki turned back to him with a small, shy smile. "So, do you feel any different? About me?"

Manjoume contemplated the truth with a wrinkle of his nose. "Not really."

"Oh," said Fubuki, deflating visibly.

"What about you?" said Manjoume, hoping against hope.

"It doesn't matter," said Fubuki with a sigh. "Experiment failed."

"Well, you did say it wouldn't work if someone already liked you," Manjoume flustered bravely through.

"Huh?" Fubuki's eyes opened wide, and Manjoume ached to drown in them once more.

Manjoume reached out tentatively to take Fubuki's hand. Fubuki's expression softened into a lopsided smile.


	3. Cosmopolitan

The music was too loud. The repetitive bass thrummed in Manjoume's ears and drowned out any melody that might have been present. He struggled back through the crowded club, three drinks clutched precariously to his chest, and scanned the room illuminated in strobing flashes of colour to make his way to his colleagues.

"Manjoume-kun?" The voice was close, and familiar enough – if a little hoarse – to cut through the noise. Manjoume turned and looked up, his fingers tensing around the glass.

"Tenjoin-san?" It was Fubuki, all right, attired in a neon pink shirt and jeans too white for the grime of the club. His hair was tied back but strands had worked loose from dancing, clinging to Fubuki's cheeks and collarbones.

"Why so formal?" Fubuki smiled ruefully. "Here, let me help you with those."

In an awkward ballet of hands Fubuki managed to extract the central drink from Manjoume's grip. He followed Manjoume to a table at the back of the room. The two sat there were also duelists, in Manjoume's league but still completely out of it as far as Fubuki was concerned, in the nondescript uniform of off-duty celebrities – immaculately torn jeans and branded athleisure t shirts. Fubuki greeted them with a smile as Manjoume made introductions.

Fubuki squeezed onto the semi-circular leather couch at Manjoume's invitation. "You know, if you're in the VIP area, you can just order drinks to your table?"

Manjoume's eyes slid over to his companions. "I just felt like taking a walk."

Fubuki had to strain to hear him. "It is a bit stuffy in here. Let's head outside for a bit." He led the way to the club's back door with polite excuses.

Manjoume braced against the shock of the cool night air, rubbing the thin fabric covering his arms. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"A couple of years, I think," said Fubuki, leaning against the wall. The thumping music had subsided to a background annoyance. Above it burbled the conversations of the smokers and trendsetters clustered around them.

"We should catch up some time. Go for dinner or something." Manjoume fumbled his phone from his pocket. "What's your number?"

"It hasn't changed," said Fubuki. He blinked up at the stars, tracing the patterns with an idle finger.

"Really?" Manjoume fished desperately for an out. "Someone said –"

"Manjoume-kun," Fubuki looked him square in the eyes, lips drawn into a tight frown. "I'm not interested in a two-minute reminiscence and a promise of a call that never comes. You cut off all contact with me with no explanation. I thought we were close. I can walk back through that door and out of your life, if you want. Or –"

Manjoume swallowed, trying to sink his heart back to its normal resting place from where it was lurking in the back of his throat.

"Or, you can tell me now what's going on with you."

"I was busy. I kept forgetting -"

Fubuki sighed and pushed himself away from the wall, starting towards the door. Manjoume grabbed a panicked handful of Fubuki's shirt.

"No, no, don't go. I… I just needed some time to think, that's all." Fubuki stopped, but didn't turn around. Manjoume continued, tripping over the words. "And by the time I figured it out, it felt like it was too late, and I couldn't just pretend like it was nothing, so I…"

Fubuki looked back over his shoulder at Manjoume, his face tensed under the dim backstreet lighting. "What's so important to think about that you'd sacrifice our friendship?"

Manjoume let his hand fall, defeated, and looked at his shoes. "Love."

"…Love?" Fubuki repeated, softly, turning towards Manjoume.

"Seeing you now," Manjoume whispered as his cheeks reddened, "it's the same. Even if I haven't been with you, my feelings haven't changed, it seems."

Fubuki put his hands on Manjoume's shoulders to still their shaking. "You love me."

Manjoume nodded, and smiled in grim apology.

Fubuki leaned in, pressing Manjoume to the tile of the wall behind, and waited agonising seconds before his lips found Manjoume's, soft and with the fruity tang of cheap cocktails.

"All those hints I dropped… You didn't get any of them, huh?" Fubuki's smile was irrepressible as Manjoume's hands found their way up his back to his shoulder blades. "And Asuka says I'm as subtle as a brick."

"You could have just told me." Manjoume chided Fubuki with a soft peck on the cheek.

"So could you." Fubuki nuzzled to the left, bringing their lips into contact once more.

"I did." Manjoume kissed back.

"Took you long enough." Fubuki twined a hand in Manjoume's black hair, holding him close. "But I'm so very glad you did."


	4. Kissing Fubuki

It had started after they'd watched a movie. "Everybody needs practice," the woman had said, and Fubuki had turned a puckish smile upon Manjoume, setting the idea in his head. Manjoume had been nervous, but it was practice, it didn't really _count_. It wasn't like it was his first _real_ kiss. So if there were bumped noses or clashed teeth, as long as Fubuki gave him that soft chuckle afterwards, it was fine.

It was more than fine, really. The best part of kissing Fubuki was the moment before: watching his tongue flick out to moisten his lips, leaning in so close but not quite there, closing his eyes and relying on instinct to close the gap. Then there was the kiss itself, give and take, soft and firm, the feeling of Fubuki's tongue sliding over his own setting a fire in his stomach. That was also the best part. And the last best part was the moment after, watching Fubuki's warm eyes smiling as he caressed Manjoume's face, the fingers on his left hand calloused from his guitar while the right was worn smooth from dueling.

It was only practice. Not strange at all that Manjoume didn't need to think about anyone else while he was kissing Fubuki. He was just feeding off Fubuki's natural romantic energies. And he was getting good at it. He could tangle his fingers in Fubuki's hair, squeeze ever so slightly and elicit a soft whine which brought Fubuki closer, begging hungrily. He could pull back, teasing at Fubuki's bottom lip, making Fubuki grab his shoulders and pull them together, the heat between them rising. He could stray with his kisses to the corner of Fubuki's mouth, or his ear, or his neck, marking the change in Fubuki's expression to something dark and greedy. And if he was a little disappointed when Fubuki would insist that they stopped there, well, it was only kissing practice after all.

"We're going to have to stop this," whispered Manjoume between the soft touch of their lips, the tip of his nose rubbing gently against Fubuki's.

"Why?" Fubuki pressed his lips to Manjoume's. Manjoume kissed back, in no hurry to respond.

"We graduate soon. We'll leave here, and probably not see each other for ages, and by then we'll probably have girlfriends or something." The sentence was a waste of what Manjoume's mouth could currently be doing, and he redoubled his efforts.

"You think we've had enough practice?" Fubuki murmured, his breath falling softly on Manjoume's cheek and making his heart flutter.

"Maybe not just yet." Manjoume cupped Fubuki's jaw and leaned in again. Fubuki spoke before Manjoume could initiate the kiss.

"You know, we could make it real." There was that smile again, the light of mischief so endearing.

"We can do that?"

"Why not? Be my boyfriend, Manjoume Jun."

It was Manjoume's first kiss. And he knew exactly what he was doing.


End file.
